


Dyslexic History

by Angelike



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Modern Setting, One Shot, Podfic Welcome, Reincarnation, Short Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-18
Updated: 2009-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:55:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelike/pseuds/Angelike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Once and Future King has returned. And he's more than a little amused at the way his legend has been written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dyslexic History

Merlin stumbled over an old copy of Geoffrey of Monmouth's _Historia regum Britannie_ almost immediately upon his return. From there, it didn’t take a genius to guess the source of the near-hysterical laughter originating from the den. The house looked as it a tornado had blown through it, priceless books and manuscripts scattered over every . Clearly Arthur had been busy. The git had never been very good at picking up after himself. It seemed that no matter how drastically the world fluxed and changed around them, some things would always stay the same.

“I _did_ warn you,” Merlin pointed out over the sound of Arthur’s roaring guffaws, unable to hide his own amusement. He wanted to be cross, really he did, but this happiness bubbling in his chest was still too fresh, too new for any true ire.

_God_, it was good to have him back.

After countless centuries of waiting, the Once and Future King had returned, as vivid and vibrant as he had been in his youth, before the mantel of kingship, with all the accompanying cares and worries, had fully settled over his shoulders. Less than two months had passed since his lord’s return from Avalon, less than two months since his heart had been made whole again. The aching pleasure of having his liege back was intoxicating.

Arthur return may be an indicator of pending disaster and the world's need for a hero, but that wasn't enough to dampen his joy; after all, what threat couldn't they conquer together? And this time, when their duty was done, they would _both_ seek their final rest. His long years of loneliness were drawing to an end.

“The stories aren't quite what you expected, are they?”

Arthur glared at him from the sofa, expression taking on a familiar mixture of exasperation and fondness. “No,” Arthur said slowly, as if speaking to a very small child. “You told me that legend had embellished things a bit.” He slammed shut the book he had been pouring over (_Le Morte D’Arthur_, Merlin noted with an inward chuckle) with a resounding _thunk_ and arched his brows in a suitably kingly manner. “You failed to mention the part where _people are insane_!” He gestured wildly, indicating the haphazardly strew books and assorted essays around him. Merlin stifled a grin. “Honestly, have you _read_ this nonsense?”

“A few times, actually.” He'd even written some of it. (What? A man can't have hobbies?)

“Then maybe you can explain to me how Morgana became my sister and Mordred the product of our incestuous love?”

“Er…” Merlin coughed, choking back a laugh. Was that a trick question? Because he had theories. None of which had to do with him maybe, possibly, accidentally offering a little inspiration to a few bards some centuries back in a fit of pique, because he'd missed Arthur and missed annoying him and nothing had ever annoyed him like the insinuation that he and Morgana might have had something going on behind closed doors. Right. He’d had nothing to do with it. Really.

Thankfully, Arthur didn’t seem to expect an answer. Because if there was one thing he hated more than the idea of indulging in ‘incestuous love’ with Morgana it was –

“And don’t even get me started on the whole Guinevere-Lancelot debacle!”

– Lancelot.

“Well,” Merlin started, lips twitching treacherously, “I actually liked that addition to the story. It’s very romantic, if you think about it: the original star-crossed lovers…” Never mind that Gwen and Lancelot had been happily married before Arthur had become king and Arthur himself had never been persuaded to marry, even when Merlin insisted he should consider the need for an heir (_that’s what second cousins are for_, Arthur had said with a stubborn set to his jaw, _now come over here and let me fuck you_).

“Romantic?” Arthur repeated, clearly affronted. “It’s utterly ridiculous! I mean, honestly, as if anyone could be interested in a ponce like _Lancelot_ when they have me! Clearly if I had married Gwen, she would have never given anyone else a second glance.”

Arrogant prat.

“Oh, yes. Clearly.” Merlin nodded amicably. Then, just because he knew it would drive Arthur mad: “Though, Lancelot really is a nice fellow.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

Hook. Line. Sinker.

Arthur was so cute when he was jealous. Though, Merlin had never really understood why Lancelot in particular seemed to bring out all these petty and possessive urges. Was the man attractive? Yes. Was he intelligent? Yes. Was he virtuous? Yes. But none of that had ever mattered.

Dangerously, lowly: “How nice?”

Merlin let the full weight of his smile shine through and answered, with absolute sweetness and sincerity: “Not nearly as nice as you.” Arthur’s expression softened. “You know you’re the only one for me.” With gentle fingers Merlin reached out to tug affectionately at golden locks. Arthur leaned into the touch without complaint, the blue of his eyes drawing him in so deep that the rest of the world fell away.

At which point Arthur took shameless advantage of his distraction and promptly pulled him over the arm of the sofa to sprawl across his lap in an undignified heap, fragile papers and book-spines crunching and cracking warningly beneath him. Stunned, he lay there, wide-eyed and unsettled.

“And then, of course, there’s you,” Arthur was saying, voice husky and low as he made easy work of the buttons of his shirt.

“What about me?”

Cool fingers traced sensuous patterns across newly barred skin and Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. “Well, for one thing,” Arthur started with an infuriating smirk and an experimental pinch of one pert nipple, which earned a muffled moan, “some of these stories make you out to be a bit of a hebephile. Merlin: the wise, old adviser. Arthur: the pure, young innocent. Sounds like the premise of one of those raunchy pornos that you think I don't know you keep hidden on the top shelf of the broom cupboard, you cradle-robber you.”

Merlin glared, slapping at wandering hands in annoyance. “Oh, shut up! If anyone took advantage,” he rebuked, “it was you! I was a virgin before you got your filthy, royal paws on me.” Arthur’s hands headed south and Merlin arched into the touch with a desperate gasp.

“Precisely,” Arthur leered. “I’m not too fond of this ‘old mentor’ version of you. It’s decidedly unsexy. I much prefer my lover fresh-faced and nubile.”

Now _that_ was quite enough.

Wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck, Merlin pulled Arthur down with a frustrated growl. “If you don’t stop teasing me you won’t have any lover – nubile or otherwise!” Their mouths met in a needy clash and Merlin could feel Arthur’s laughter reverberating pleasantly right down to his bones.

The world could have its legends. All Merlin needed was this.


End file.
